Cold Water Vertigo

In a couple of weeks I'll be teaching at Paddle Golden Gate (renamed from the Golden Gate Sea Kayak Symposium). One of my courses will be on combat rolling, so as I was working on my syllabus I figured it would probably be a good thing to get in some rolling practice of my own. I've haven't been paddling that much lately and when I've gone out it's been for fun, not work. And just like any long-time paddler, us instructors can get a little lazy on skill practice - when it's cold out and you don't have to flip over, why bother? So I hadn't done much rolling, especially not in cold water. Time to make up for my laziness.

I went out on the river - the surf was big and nasty - and planned to get in some quick rolls and head back home for some housework and then a hike (getting in shape for a backpacking trip - there's always something to get back in shape for). I wore my drysuit, put on a nice neoprene skull cap under my helmet, even had my pogies on. The weather was mid-50's (this is California, after all) and the water was several degrees colder than that. Not the most frigid conditions for paddling, but cold nonetheless.

I paddled upriver a ways to warm and felt quite toasty before I started some bracing to loosen up and get my face wet. The cold water refreshed me and gave me the usual doubts - did I really need to go over? I did, so I rolled. My left side rolls felt fine. I'm right-handed and learned my right side first, but my left side has always been smoother and easier. I never try to muscle it. My right side worked but didn't feel as smooth. I was fighting it and wasn't sure exactly why it wasn't working so well. I kept rolling, mostly the right, occasionally the left. Over the course of half an ourh I probably did thirty or forty rolls, with some paddling breaks to stay warm.

While I was intent on smoothing out my technique I didn't pay enough attention to my location. I drifted a bit into the shallows and on my next roll attempt I hit the mud with my paddle (side note - diving blade angle not good). I struggled to pull the blade free of the mud and by the time it came clear I was low on air and quite discombobulated. I instinctively set up for a roll on my right side but I had no clue where the surface was and my roll failed completely. I pulled my skirt and quickly wet exited for some air.

In eighteen inches of water it should have been easy to stand, but when I tried to get to my feet I fell right back over. I held on to my boat and anchored a foot in the mud so I wouldn't drift in the mild current. The world continued to spin and after a minute I gave up on the notion of walking and crawled my boat into shore. A couple minutes of rest on solid ground returned the steadiness of the horizon and I was fine.

I've always known cold water on the inner ear could induce vertigo. It primarily happens when cold water gets in one ear and not the other - something facilitated by wearing a hood and twisting yourself upside down underwater. But I've never experienced it myself. I think it's because I don't normally spend that much time upside down. Quite disconcerting.

It wasn't a danger in my case - even though I was by myself, I was smart enough to practice in a protected place near shore. But if it had happened while out in the wild it would have been a different story. The good news about the effect is that it generally goes away once the water in the ears warms up - so even if you're floating in the swell it should subside after several minutes. But that means you have to be prepared to spend several minutes in the water; another reason to dress for immersion.

It's good to have confidence in your skills. It's good to have a combat roll that you believe will never fail. It's still necessary to have backup. It's still smart to practice and keep your experience fresh. Our bodies fail us sometimes, often in new ways we didn't expect, often through no fault of our own. Cold water vertigo seems to become more common as you age - and we're all getting older.

The solution is simple: earplugs. I've misplaced my own or I would have worn them. Not only does it limit the chance of cold water vertigo, it helps to protect the ear from surfer's ear, a much more serious and long-term problem. I'm going out to new earplugs now :)

The Kayak Meme Machine

It seems like life has been heavy lately. Not just for me, but for the world in general. Terrorist attacks, vitriolic political debates, short and dark days of winter. I thought I'd lighten things up, at least for me, but taking on a fun little project that combines a few of my favorite things: writing, photography, kayaking, even a little graphic design. And there are more collections of my Memes: post 2, post 3, post 4

I thought I'd take some of my favorite photos and turn them into memes. As near as I can tell, the requirements for a good meme are a square cropped picture, Impact font, and no limitation to facts or common sense. So I'm going to throw a bunch out and maybe they'll spread through the interwebs and bring a little light in the gloom of night. Or at least a chuckle from those who understand.

If you have any photos you'll like to contribute, just send them in. Or if you have a better caption for my pictures just let me know. Let's have a little fun with life even if we're stuck here on dry land.

A Paddler's Journey for the Holidays!

My kayaking memoir, A Paddler's Journey, has been out for a few months now and I can't tell you how great it is to hear from folks who have read and enjoyed it. When I showed up at Lumpy one of the participants searched me out to tell that her friend had read the book all the way through in one sitting and told her she had to get it. She wasn't reading quite as fast but was half-way through and loving it. A number of paddlers have expressed a little surprise that someone with my experience goes through the same issues: doubt, fear, frustration, failure. But that's kind of the point - the details may be different, the trips a little grander and rivers a littler harder, but we all really experience the same things. I think non-paddlers will get just as much out of it for the very same reasons.

So in light of the holidays, and hoping people might want to share with their non-paddling friends a little window in the world of kayaking, I'm putting the book on sale.  If you purchase it through the CreateSpace site and use the code XUW6M6ZV you'll get $3.00 off the cover price. That makes it only $9.99!

Paperback $9.99

And if you want a signed copy you can order that through my website. You can even tell me what you want on the inscription and have me mail it directly to someone special as a gift. I have limited stock on hand so first come first serve for Christmas gifts. You'll need to order by 12/15/15 in order to make sure it gets there in time. And if you order in December I'll even through in a free copy of my Paddle California DVD, highlighting some of the best kayaking our wonderful state has to offer.

Signed Paperback $15

(with free Paddle California DVD)

The digital version is temporarily only available at Amazon and at $2.99 you don't really need a sale price to afford it :)

Kindle eBook $2.99

And if you've already read the book, let me know what you thought - I love to get feedback. You can always leave a comment, or if you want to share your thoughts with the rest of the world, consider writing a quick review. (Reviews also help drive Amazon search engines, so just by leaving one you'll help other people find the book)

And for those who missed it the first time, here's the trailer if you want more info on the book itself:

13 Truths About Middle-aged Kayakers

A number of my paddling friends shared an article on Facebook the other day entitled 13 Truths About Whitewater Kayaking. It's a light-hearted article about the love for the sport and a lot of it 'rings true'. But when I really think about it, and as one of my friends pointed out, it doesn't actually hold true - not for me or most of the paddlers I know who aren't teenagers anymore. (The article is classified in '20 Somethings, Culture & Art).

So I thought I'd share my take on what I think is true about kayakers. And I'm including all kayakers, 'cause whitewater isn't the only place you'll find true paddlers who love their sport. Here are my truths and what I see on the water:

1. Kayaking is what you think about when you have a free moment.

Much of my day is spent thinking about my job. Sure, it's not as much fun as thinking about kayaking, but it's important and I derive some satisfaction when I figure out a problem or accomplish something important. I think about the future and how I'm going to pay for a mortgage. I worry about the state of our economy, the influx of money in politics, and what's on sale at the grocery store. I also spend a fair bit of time thinking about my family and friends, worrying about those going through hard times.

The truth is the most hard-core paddlers I know are very well-rounded fascinating people who lead interesting lives outside the paddling world. Talk to EJ about life and raising kids if you ever get the chance. Check out Diane Gaydos' highlight reel and consider the fact she did all that while in med school. Look at the beauty of Darin McQuoid's pictures and you'll see an artistic talent that reaches far beyond the river. If all someone ever thought about was kayaking I'd run out of interest in that conversation pretty quick.

2. You jump for joy when the next Moody's report comes out.

Let's face it, most of us are more concerned with how our 401k is doing than river flows. Even I, who writes about kayaking all the time, would generally rather read about important issues that affect my life than about kayaking. And I know from experience that most kayakers would rather go kayaking than read a magazine. My wife's an avid paddler and even she doesn't read this blog regularly (though bless your heart if you're one of those who does :). Whitewater kayakers in particular tend to be people who live in the moment and don't spend too much of their time worrying about other people having their moments.

3. When you meet another kayaker you instantly have something to talk about.

It is a great thing about kayaking that when you meet a stranger at the put-in you immediately have a topic of conversation. It does avoid the awkward party scene where you grope for any shared interest to start talking about. And you can indeed bond quite quickly on the river. But if all you know about me is my paddling you don't know me very well. I may end up trusting my life to a stranger I met an hour ago, but that doesn't make them my best friend. I do paddle with my best friends, but it's what they do for me off the water that's earned them that moniker.

4. You choose your vacation by how much time off you get and what you'll do with the kids.

I don't actually have any kids of my own, but somehow that's still the basis of how I choose my vacation: what does it mean for the family. My wife paddles so we often take kayaking vacations. But we do have to figure out what to do with the dog. We do have to work in time to visit friends, attend weddings, go see the family back home. It's a luxury to only worry about yourself and your desires, one that's good to take once in a while, but even us irresponsible adults have a lot more complexitites in life to manage.

5. You find little need to explain your passion to anyone.

Maybe when you first start kayaking you feel some need to justify your passion to those who don't understand the sport. After a while you realize that your kayaker friends already know what your passion is all about and those who don't kayak won't really understand. Much more importantly, who cares if they do? Don't get me wrong, if I think someone will appreciate learning about kayaking I'll share the stoke with them. But lots of people don't really care what I love about the sport. They have no interest in it. That's fine. They might love gardening or restoring muscle cars. Good on 'em. Let everyone have their passion and embrace the diversity in the world.

6. Kayaking is not your church.

Some kayakers go a real church on Sundays. Their religious faith is an important part of their life. I know that 'church' has become part of the kayaking vernacular, and it's appropriate for some folks, but it doesn't capture my thoughts towards the sport in any way. And it discounts the religious views of many that contains thoughts beyond a good boof or enjoyment of nature. Not every kayaker is a nature-before-all-else tree-hugger, and even those who are might not consider nature the same as religion. For some people kayaking is a sport and and hobby. That's enough.

7. You can't keep up with the slang of those darn young-uns.

I've run the gnar. I've thrown a brown-claw (though ironically). I do occasionally lapse into jargon talking with my paddling buddies. But I'm not into the 'scene'. I don't worry about keeping up with the cool kids. I kinda like talking like an adult and using words, sometimes lengthy onomatopoetic ones to convey my deep love of kayaking.

8. You don't judge others by how much kayaking they do.

OK, I married a kayaker. But I certainly didn't marry her because she's a kayaker. I married her for her outlook on the world, the kindness she shows others, the passion she brings to her job (which involves helping disadvantaged kids), and the beautiful person she is on the inside. I know a number of awesome couples who paddle together. I also see some of the strongest marriages with a partner who doesn't kayak at all.  If you limit your dating pool to paddlers you're shortchanging yourself.

9. You'd rather meet a social activist than a famous kayaker.

I've met a number of famous kayakers. Pretty much to a person they have been some of the nicest and most interesting people I've met. And pretty easy to meet - just do some kayaking and you're bound to run into them. But when I think about the famous people I'd like to meet it's the people in my field - famous writers who I'd love to learn from. Or possibly cool folks who do things like organize charity programs for mosquito nets in Africa or events to help disabled vets get back into experiencing life. Go ahead and fantasize about meeting a famous kayaker. But if you do, make sure to ask them about something other than kayaking. You'll learn a lot that way.

10. Female Kayakers.

Yes, female kayakers are pretty awesome. Females are pretty awesome. Kayakers are pretty awesome. Male kayakers are pretty awesome too. The traits that make someone a kayaker are often the traits that make an attractive human being. For me, these traits include determination and a spirit of adventure, but they also include concern for others, willingness to face self-doubt, respect for those on a different path, and an appreciation of peace and beauty. You don't have to be a bad-ass kayaker to be an amazing person.

11. Your ideal lazy day consists of sleeping in, reading the paper, doing yardwork, and watching a Pixar movie.

I make kayak movies. Lots of them. And I really enjoy some well-done kayak porn now and then. But I don't have time to watch another GoPro video of the Green. I'd rather go kayaking than watch it, but if that's not possible there are a million other things I need to get done. I would love to spend an entire day in bed doing nothing, but if I somehow found the time to do that I would read a book or watch a PBS documentary. Maybe see what this Avengers thing is all about. I'm happy to take a break from kayaking and have many other hobbies with which to fill my time.

12. You like a nice Pinot and wouldn't dare drink it out of a booty.

I kayak because I enjoy it. I enjoy many aspects of the sport, including the conversation, the setting, the camaraderie. I definitely enjoy sipping a beer around the fire while cooking dinner and reminiscing about the day's run. But don't need to be punished for swimming. I don't need to torture those who do something that we all admit is a part of the sport. I don't enjoy the thought of drinking a beer out of my wet booty and don't feel the need to do things I don't enjoy to satisfy some silly social convention. If you enjoy that tradition, carry on. If not, no worries.

13. Much Love.

There truly is much love in this sport. Kayaking brings together some great people and it's easy to get along with folks who you might not enjoy in other situations. I've bonded over a kayak trips, met my wife through kayaking, and count numerous kayaking stories as highlights in my life. But I like to think that most people have found something to be passionate about. Whether it's raising their kids, building model trains, or collecting Taylor Swift paraphernalia. Kayakers don't have a monopoly on love and I like to see the stoke in whatever form it takes 

There may have been a time where I let one thing dominate my life. Where I could commit myself to something completely and without reservation. Over time, my life has grown more complex and I keep adding new things all the time. To me, that's made it much richer and more fulfilling, and as glad as I am that kayaking is a part of my life, I'm thankful that my life is much more than kayaking.

Dig a Little Deeper

I've got a point, but it's going to take me a bit to get there.

Plastics are F-ing awesome!

I got into whitewater kayak well after plastic boats hit the scene and revolutionized the sport, but I have an appreciation for history and plenty of experience in composite sea kayaks and polo boats. Plastic kayaks are so much tougher and more durable, they hold up to abuse and allow for design innovation and mass production to serve more paddlers. They're cheaper, allowing more people to get into the sport of kayaking. They're lightweight - yeah, I know they're heavier than composite boats, but when you think about what they do and what they're expected to survive, they're remarkably light.

In the bigger picture, kayaks aren't really all that important to the world. But how about artificial limbs? Hip replacements? MRIs? Malaria mosquito nets? The way plastics have impacted the medical field and made our lives safer and better (and even just plain possible) dwarf any recreational use of the material. Little things, like blood storage bags that don't break when you drop them to lowering staph infection rates through use of disposables.

And for those interested in saving energy, using renewable sources and limiting carbon emissions: plastics make wind turbines possible, make planes and cars lighter and thus more fuel efficient, and can be used for insulation that limits the need for heating buildings with natural gas.

Mr. McGuire was right. There's a great future in plastics.

Plastics are evil!

There are some really bad aspects to plastic. The water bottles we all used to drink from contained Bisphenol A (BPA), which has been shown to affect hormone levels, increase cancer risk, and alter brain development. (And even if you've stopped using those bottles, BPA is everywhere and 90% already have it in our bodies).

Plastic microbeads are a huge problem in our waterways, eventually leading to the ocean and poisoning the entire food chain - the one we're on top of. Plastic's own virtues - its lightweight, almost indestructible nature - also lead to its dangers, breaking down to smaller sizes but never chemically changing to something benign.

We've banned plastic bags since they end up in landfills and will be there for thousands of years (even though we could very easily recycle them). Instead we use bio-degradable materials made from natural sources, like cotton or paper, which we farm or harvest, theoretically to regrow but often simply destroying the natural environment to produce.

Plastics aren't the issue.

Recently a few hundred kayakers took to the water to protest the launch of a Shell Oil platform destined for the waters off Alaska. A few days later, an oil pipeline burst off Refugio Beach outside Santa Barbara, spreading 21,000 gallons of oil into the sea. This is the area where I learned to paddle, paddling along the SoCal coast and out to the Channel Islands. But it could happen - and has happened - almost anywhere in the world, and disaster is disaster whether in your backyard or across the globe.

Oil is the main ingredient in plastic. About five percent of all the oil produced is used to make plastic. That oil is formed over thousands of years, consisting of biological agents (plants) which were made of carbon - carbon taken out of the air. Oil represents nature's caching of carbon, a cycle that removes carbon dioxide from the atmosphere and stores it safely deep beneath the surface of the earth.

But in digging up that oil we have an energy source. One that allows us to travel freely and cheaply, both halfway around the world to kayak in Antarctica, or to our local run just a couple hours up in the hills. It's made the world smaller, letting us get to know our not-so-near neighbors and move from one country to another. It's kept us warm at night and lighted the way. It's powered the electricity that transformed the very nature of society (including this wonderful internet that allows me to share my thoughts with you).

But as we all hopefully know by now, carbon in the air, in the form of carbon dioxide which is released when oil is burned or processed. affects the temperature of the planet as a whole. More plastic, more oil, more carbon dioxide, higher temperature. Higher temperatures = lots of problems.

What's the point?

The point is: it's not so simple. Those kayaktivists drove to the water in mostly gas-powered vehicles (or electric - likely generated by burning more fossil fuels and packed into a battery filled with toxic chemicals); many paddled plastic boats built from the very substance they didn't want taken from the ground. For all it's back-to-nature sentimentality, kayaking is a consumption sport, a privileged use of a limited resource that has real, negative impacts upon the world. It's a luxury.

I love to kayak and I love kayakers - hopefully that's obvious from everything I've written the past five years. The paddling community has a long tradition of supporting many worthy causes that respect the environment and our fellow man. But it's a small community and its needs are relatively unimportant for their own sake. Our hobby is part of the problem while our voices are calling for a solution. We are contradictory and hypocritical by our nature, though our hearts are in the right place and our desires pure.

Personally, I believe kayaking is a valid use of limited resources and the point of life is not to leave the planet unchanged and undisturbed, but to enjoy our time here in a responsible way that allows those who follow to do the same. I burn up carbon, heat up the environment, take short showers and recycle. I try to find my balance. But that balance is my own and I don't expect everyone to end up at the same point on the scales.

I think all paddlers - all people - need to recognize the complexity of our lives, even when we try to live simply. It's not about guilt or shaming; it's not about right vs. wrong. We all make many choices, conscious or not, and we all have goals, beliefs, and practical realities that make up our world. Each of us chooses differently, and those choices filter our reactions to each other. We all might be better of if we take a step back, consider the complexity, and even if we can't wrap our heads around it all, at least we can recognize that it's there and respect the decisions others have made. For all the talk of plastics, most of us are living in glass houses, so choose your actions accordingly.

Milestones

I'm not real big on watching numbers or touting my own accomplishments, but yesterday this blog passed 100,000 views. It's not a big number in the viral world, but that's a lot of eyeballs looking at my simple words and pictures. I took up this blog six years ago just for the fun of it, and I'm happy to report that's still the reason I write - because it's fun. It's nice to know that some people out there enjoy it as well.

In looking back over the six years and 260 posts, some things stand out. My first post turned out to be a bit prophetic, an early visit to Mendocino and the place I now call home. My most viewed post is a kayak review, though it also demonstrates why I don't do a lot of reviews on the site. My most commented on post deals with kayak repair - and I've actually updated it recently in case it's a topic you're interested in. And the post that went the most viral (at least for a day or two) seemed to connect with many of the everyday paddlers out there. Lots of highlights in there, and I'd be hard-pressed to choose a favorite. But there is one post that stands out as the epitome of why I started this blog - to relate the joy of paddling that I've found and share a personal experience that hopefully inspires others.

While I may cringe a little at the low quality of some of the video I first put up, and I know that I'd lose days and weeks if I went back to edit all the writing that really isn't up to my current standard, I'm quite proud of this little blog overall and like it all the more for not being perfect.

And though I sit alone and type away at my computer, processing photos and editing video, there is something about sharing thoughts and feeling along with the simple details that make the experiences all the richer. So thank you all for visiting. Thanks for leaving a comment and sharing your own thoughts. Thanks for adding to my tally and expressing some appreciation, whether in a simple like or some kind words around a campfire. Paddling itself is just one more activity to do. It's the people that make it special.

In that light, and continuing to try to give back to a sport that's given me so much, I'm having a little contest. The first person who can name the location of this picture (body of water) will win a free Paddle California DVD. Leave your guesses in the comments (I may be out paddling, so don't be upset if I don't respond to the winner right away :-).

A Paddler's Journey: What it takes to create a book

As my regular readers know, I've been working on a book, a paddling memoir tracing my career as a kayaker. But I know from experience that most people don't really understand what all it takes to make a book, so I thought I'd explain the process a little more.

Putting words on paper (or into a word processor). That's what most people think of when you say you're writing a book. And you do have to do that. But that's the fun and easy part, and it's just the beginning. Sure, you could just ramble on for page after page, just collect the stuff I've already written here, but a book - a real and true book - is different than a collection of blog posts.

When I set out to write A Paddler's Journey, I needed a theme, something to hold it all together and give it a backbone to build around. I wanted to share some fun paddling stories, but that alone wouldn't be worthy of a book. I decided to show my progression through the sport and all the lessons I learned along the way. How becoming a paddler has influenced my life as a whole. I did this through stories, and the stories can be taken by themselves and enjoyed as individual adventures, but each one builds on the previous and they all lead somewhere - to the person I am today. I had to leave out some good stories that didn't fit. I had to include more than just the paddling - I had to talk about the people, since they influenced me as much as the water. It took a lot more thought and careful deliberation to come up with the content for the book.

But then I did write it all down. That was fun. Then I reread it and saw all my mistakes - mistakes everyone makes in a first draft - and that wasn't so fun. I edited, changing large chunks of text, deleting some chapters, including more of my emotions, trying to be more descriptive and entertaining in my prose. It takes a lot to edit a couple hundred pages.

Then I sent that draft off to several folks for feedback. Quite a number never responded. It's very understandable - everyone is really busy and even if they squeeze in the time to read it they might not know how to critique it. But spending months pouring your heart and sole into an artistic endeavor, one that reveals your innermost thoughts and lays out who you are as a human being, only to get chirping crickets in response, is never easy.

But some did respond. They said good things and they also made suggestions of ways to improve it. I didn't agree with all of them, and some were contradictory, but it gave me more information and allowed me to go back in for another draft. That's right, I re-wrote the entire book, tightening it up, making every sentence the best I could. Months of hard work.

That basically got me to a near-final draft. Currently I'm working on a little bit of final editing - more proofreading than anything, making sure there are no typos, no missed words or clumsy constructions. Going through 57,000 words individually to make sure each one is correct. It's not fun or easy and requires a huge amount of concentration. I take books seriously.

Is that it? Is having all those words sorted out enough? Not even close. I plan to publish my book as a physical thing as well as in electronic form. Both formats require more preparation.

Digital books are pretty easy to format. It takes a little more than just uploading your Word document, but not that much. The main thing is to make sure your code is clean, that the conversion engines can handle it (there are multiple eBook formats, so you have to have a slightly different source file for each one). It's about adjusting styles, removing tabs, including title page info, lots of little things. I've done it before so I know it's not too hard, but once again it requires a lot of attention to the details.

A physical book is a much larger beast to slay. You have to choose a font, decide on a trim size (how big the book will be), set chapter breaks, create drop caps for chapter openings, check the line spacing, the leading, the line wraps (removing widows and orphans), confirm margins and adjust headings for each section. It's typesetting, an art and industry unto itself, but as a self-publisher all the work falls on me unless I pay someone else to do it (which isn't financially realistic for a book that will likely make me a few hundred dollars). There are so many little things about a book that readers don't notice - unless it's off, then they know something's not right even if they can't name what it is.

Then there's cover design, another job that I'm doing myself. It's easy enough to put a title on top of a picture, but that cover is the main thing that sells the book, so choices of color palette, text sizing, font choice, word layout, all have a huge impact on how the reader first perceives that book. And if you get them to pick up the book (or stop to read the Amazon page), there's the back-cover copy, a one-paragraph summation of the entire project that needs to sell the book to a dubious buyer.

All of that to create a book, but it all means nothing if you don't market the book. You need to get people to look at the cover, to read the copy, to read sample pages. Again, with no budget to hire professionals, that means me talking about here on my blog, asking my friends to spread the word, calling distributors and even individual kayak shops to ask if they want to stock a few copies. All for a couple of dollars for each book you sell (and if you consider the average self-published book sells less than a hundred copies, you start to realize why very few authors actually make a living at writing books).

I'm nearing the end of the journey. I expect to have a proof copy by the end of next month and be ready to go to print a couple months after that. But I'm trying to do all this work while holding down a full time job and living the rest of my life (including teaching some kayaking now and then).

So if someone says they're writing a book, you might want to think that they're just typing away, writing out stories or ideas and having fun doing it. And that might be true. But if someone is a real author, if they're putting out a book that's equivalent to what would come from a professional publisher, then they're doing a whole lot more than that. As a reader, you're free to just enjoy the words, but maybe somewhere in the back of your mind try to appreciate all of the effort it takes to bring you each and every one of those books you breeze through and throw on the shelf to fade into memory. Writing is something special and I applaud anyone who takes it seriously and does it well. It's a journey every bit as challenging and rewarding as any kayak trip.

American Canoe Association - California Council

I've been talking about the American Canoe Association (ACA) a fair bit on the blog recently, and partly that's because I've started a new role within the organization. I'm the Clubs Director for the ACA's new California state Executive Council, part of a program with councils for every state. It's a volunteer position, as are all positions on the council, and we're all in the process of defining what it really means. Here's what we've come up with so far.

The Executive Councils are a way for the ACA to have a local focal point in each state. We're here to help spread the word - actually, lots of words - as well as listen to the what the community has to say. We want to let the world know what the ACA is and what it does, but also we want to help paddlers connect with one another. To accomplish this, we've set up a Facebook page that we will use to communicate.

What will we communicate? First, information about the ACA and it's many great programs, like instructor certification, Paddle America Clubs, insurance offerings, public safety education, and paddler advocacy. The ACA has been around for one hundred and thirty-five years, always a non-profit devoted to paddle sports. It's main goal has been one of safety, with the motto of education not regulation. It offers a lot of great resources and we hope to highlight them through the Facebook page, especially the things most pertinent to our great state.

We also want to help paddlers connect with each other. We want to let the paddlers know about cool things like the Cal100, or how SUP paddlers are welcomed at the Santa Cruz Paddlefest. And maybe some sea kayakers would be interested in learning about river slalom races, like the Moke Races, or rafters wanting to get involved with adaptive kayaking programs like Team River Runner in San Diego. We want to help new paddlers find out about their local clubs, like the Los Angeles Kayak Club, so they'll find more people to paddle with. This is a large state, and while paddlers make great communities, it's often hard to connect with those communities if you don't know they exist, and it's hard for the communities to connect to each other when they're far apart.

In that vein, we want to hear from the paddlers out there. What would you like the ACA to do for you? How can we contribute to the kayaking/rafting/SUPing/rescue world? What does California paddling need? One of the goals of the state council initiative is to have a local face on the ACA so conversations are a little more immediate and personal. Once again, it's all about communication.

As the Clubs Director for the council, my goal is to help the clubs that already exist in a variety of ways. I want to make sure they know about the insurance options that the ACA provides, which can be invaluable for putting on events where a certificate of insurance is needed. I want to make sure they're aware of the CFS grants which offer money to organizations doing public service, like cleaning up a beach or river bank. But mostly I want to help clubs reach out to new paddlers, to help them find each other and get more people into our great big paddling community. The ACA has a lot of history and a long reach already established, and we're happy to use it to help out the many little (and not so little) clubs out there. Let's make this an even bigger party.

So if you're a paddler in California, we want to have something for you. If you're not seeing it, let us know what you want and we will try to get it. If you're not from Cali, you're welcome to stop by too - we know that you all plan to come visit at some point since we have some of the best paddling in the world no matter what type of paddling you're talking about. So go like our Facebook page and say hi when you're there - I'm one of the administrators. Happy paddling!

Stepping Back

This is a very personal post for me. It's not a reaction to anything in particular, but something that's been on my mind for the past few years and I'm writing this not to prescribe or advise, but to help me crystallize my own thoughts and feelings. I've stepped back my paddling, both in quantity and difficulty, and I'm no longer an extreme kayaker by any measure. It's been a conscious choice, but with a number of unconscious elements involved.

I don't think I ever really paddled on the edge. Sure, I run class V, but not the gnar. I've done some serious sea kayak trips and played in some rough conditions, including solo adventures, but I've never felt like it was at great risk. Adrenaline was never my goal, and I'm a pretty conservative person, more of a control freak than a free spirit. But there has always been danger involved in what I do and I am well aware that risk is a part of challenging paddling. I've had my share of injuries, and while I haven't lost any close friends to the sport, I do know people who've been seriously injured or killed while kayaking.

I accepted those risks and had a few close calls over the years (like this), but I never considered my life so precious that it needed to be held back, safe in a protected box, for fear of scratching it. I used my body like my gear - hard and with purpose, treating it with respect but knowing I pushed it to its limits and failure was a possibility. My life was my own and I made the payments on it. I didn't answer to anyone else and I would be the one to deal with its loss.

But I'm married now. I have a partner who shares my life with me, on and off the water. When we paddle together I feel more concern for her safety, even when there's no significant risk, than I ever cared for my own. When she's not around and I paddle harder stuff, I still think about her more than myself. I no longer worry about what an injury would do to me, but how it would affect her. I feel no urge to risk my life because I can't bear to think about the impact its loss would have on her. My life is not just my own, and I treat it like it borrowed gear, something that I am free to use but I need to bring it back whole and sound at the end of the day.

(Let me make this very clear now: she's very understanding and appreciative of my skill and experience, and while she worries about me as any wife would, she's never asked me to curtail what I do or limit my paddling for her sake. My actions and decisions are based upon what I choose to do and not in response to what others may expect of me.)

I have read many accounts of those who've died pursuing their passion. Lots of talk about how they died doing what they love, that it was their nature, and their loved ones understood that risk was a part of their life. How loving someone who does extreme sports means accepting the potential consequences. That a person shouldn't change who they are for the sake of those around them and those who live life on the edge experience it in a way that can't be appreciated from a safe vantage point. Lots of crap like that.

You see, I don't agree. I'm not criticizing those who make that choice. If you want to pursue adventures that have a serious risk of death, that's a choice you are free to make. I won't say it's wrong for you or a mistake. I'll gladly support my friends who run harder drops and venture further into the void, all the while knowing I'll miss them terribly if something goes wrong. But I won't hold their choice up as superior, I won't acknowledge that it's a necessity and I won't credit them for a life worth more than my own. It's a choice, we all make them, and sometimes what's right for us is not right for others, and sometimes we make a choice we think is right when it probably isn't. I strive to make my choices deliberately and with care, knowing what they might mean for me and weighing what they mean for those around me.

I've chosen to step back. I don't need to justify that to anyone else, and justification is not what I seek. I seek understanding.

When I look at a hard drop, or consider a new run to push myself, I no longer feel the excitement of the challenge. My life isn't focused on testing myself in sport and proving to myself that I can master what it takes. And that's what drew me to kayaking, whitewater in particular - the difficulty. I've always wanted to test myself and succeed, to conquer what originally limited me. The risk was a necessary side effect, but never a goal. It's not something I'll miss.

These days I have plenty of challenges in other aspects of my life. Writing is hard, in a way that you can't know if you don't do it seriously, with more obstacles and rejection than I ever thought I could face. The joy I find in improving my craft matches anything I've ever felt in a boat. Being married, planning a family, contributing to my local community, and building a life centered around others all are new and revelatory challenges, eclipsing the importance of becoming a better kayaker.

Other people kayak for different reasons; they push themselves because they feel an inner need and take away something different than I do. Their motivation is not the same as mine and their choices need to reflect their own rewards. Some of them will play it safe and still face tragedy, some will choose poorly and never face the consequences. Life can be arbitrary and harsh or random and lucky. All we can do - all we should do - is make the choices that are right in the moment and learn and grow from them without regret.

When I was a full time kayak instructor many of my students would tell me I was living the dream: getting paid to do what I was passionate about, working in beautiful settings among people having fun. I took the compliment but never agreed. I was living a life, with good moments and bad, fun times and hard work, and I enjoyed it immensely. But it wasn't a dream. It was a choice I made, a life just like anyone else's. Nowadays I live the life of many: I go to work in an office, I try to play a little on the weekend, I worry about car payments and retirement funds. This feels like a dream - a grand a glorious dream where my happiness exceeds what I thought was possible. And I don't want to wake up.

That's why I stepped back. Not out of fear, not out of a sense of responsibility or any pressure to become an adult. I simply don't want to do anything that might cut short the beautiful life I now have, or somehow hurt the one person who makes this all possible for me. I'm still being just as selfish as always, but I manage to see it from a wider perspective.

I'm glad there are people out there living on the edge. I like to know that others can experience the same joy I do, whether they find it on a waterfall's lip, a high mountaintop, or watching a little league game. I am no less passionate about kayaking, but my passion derives from a different source. It comes from seeing others develop and grow as paddlers, helping them overcome their fear or limitations. It comes from sharing the quiet and solitude of the wilderness with people I care deeply about. It comes from having nothing left to prove.

I like the view from my seat, safely buckled into the minivan of life. But don't be surprised if I still manage to get some dirt on the paint, or get a flat in the middle of nowhere. And I look forward to running into you all wherever our paths may cross, whatever vehicle you're in. So go paddle, take a risk, and know that all of life is an adventure that should be experienced to the fullest.

Teaching Progressions and Instructor Certification

Since my last post on paddler assessments, I’ve had a couple discussions with folks about the instructor certification side of things. There was some misunderstanding of exactly what instructor certification is and what it is NOT. And this was coming from some folks who are ACA certified instructors, so if they aren’t entirely clear on what it means to be certified, then it’s likely that a lot of other people out there have some misperceptions as well.

I think it’s very important that people understand that ACA certification (and I think the same is true about other certifying agencies, though I can’t speak from experience there) is not about teaching a set curriculum. It’s not about teaching specific things in specific ways; it’s not about making everyone do everything the same. What is it about?

Certification is about setting a standard of teaching ability and knowledge related to the subject. It’s about making sure instructors know some fundamental principles of teaching: using different teaching styles to engage different learning styles, teaching in a progression that builds and develops skills, knowing the theory behind the practice. It’s also about safety: knowing how to manage a group on the water, knowing multiple rescue techniques, knowing how to recognize hazards and avoid them in the first place.

It is about technique, but not necessarily about uniformity. There are some skills that everyone needs to have in their specific environment: a forward stroke to propel the boat, how to edge a kayak on moving water, how to perform a deep water rescue on flat water. But there are different ways to accomplish these things, and as long as you adhere to certain principles of safety and good body mechanics, variety is fine. Not everyone has to have the same forward stroke, but everyone should be using their torso for power and should not be bending their wrists; you can perform a T rescue with the empty boat upright or upside down, but you have to have a solid grip if you don’t want to lose the boat or flip over in the rescue.

With that being said, there is no set ACA curriculum. There isn’t a single teaching progression that the ACA says you have to follow and it’s fine if you use the word tilt instead of lean. One thing that confuses people is that the ACA lists sample curriculum on its website. But those are samples, possible ways of teaching a subject that have been proven to work. But the ACA knows that what works for an instructor in California might be different that one in Wisconsin. A sequence that works for Jane Doe teaching in South Carolina might be different than what John Smith uses in North Carolina. Those variations are a good thing – a rigid curriculum would never work for all and no one is trying to make it so. (On the other hand, within a specific program or school it is good to have consistency, so as people move from one class to the next, the courses build instead of starting over.)

Instructors-in-training

As an Instructor Trainer, I admit that I am part of the problem. When I certify instructors, I use a set curriculum – I use mine. That’s not because I think the way I do things is best, or that everyone else should copy me, but because you need to have something to work off of. I can’t teach the concept of progression without using a progression, but I don’t have time to go through multiple progressions. I can’t demonstrate teaching everything in every different way – it just isn't practical, and it would be confusing if I did. I try to encourage folks to experiment and find what works for them, but encouraging isn’t the same as modeling so the message can get lost. 

When I certify people I definitely do not demand that they teach as I would teach. I make sure they have the principles, that they get the information across and can model safe and efficient technique. I try not to turn out cookie cutter instructors, but it’s a natural thing to imitate those with more experience. (I know I started by copying my betters. Over time I copied enough different people to have developed my own style and belief in what works for me.)

On multiple occasions I’ve heard people say that they don’t agree with the ACA way of teaching. I never understand exactly what they mean by that, but most of the time I think it’s really saying that they don’t completely agree with what they saw one particular ACA instructor do, or what they think they know about how one particular instructor teaches. The ACA certifies that people can teach, that they have multiple tools and methods of getting information across to students, that they can safely manage a group and be good stewards of the sport. I really don’t know how anyone can have a problem with that. I’ve yet to see any great instructor (and I’ve seen a lot), teach in a way that’s inconsistent with ACA certification – even those who are not ACA certified and those who have no certification whatsoever.

Let me reiterate here that certification is not a prerequisite for good teaching. Not everyone needs to get certified and certification alone is not proof of excellence.  But getting certified does expose you to new ideas on teaching. It does prove that you’ve demonstrated a significant level of ability and competence in teaching, while in no way does it limit or control effective teaching. It has a role to play in the instructional world, and it’s worth knowing what it means and what it doesn’t. I hope that clears things up.

Paddler Assessments

I'm going to go on a rant, but before I do I want to lay out a little bit of background in order to make my point clear. First, I'm an American Canoe Association (ACA) Instructor Trainer in both Ocean and Whitewater Kayaking. I've been an ACA member for fifteen years and I'm on the California State Executive Council. I think it's a wonderful organization that does a great many things for kayakers and I'm proud of my role in the organization.

There are other organizations out there that do similar things. The North American branch of the British Canoe Union (BCU), now called PaddleSports North America. There's also Paddle Canada and I'm sure many more such organizations around the world that are set up to help educate and train paddlers. I'm all for systematized learning and best practices coordination, and for paddlers to unite and help each other out. These groups are good things.

Among the many useful things that these organizations do is paddler assessments (some call them different things, like star awards, but the concept is the same). They set up criteria by which to judge paddling skills and knowledge, and have a group of people, normally certified instructors, who judge paddlers to determine if they deserve the award and at what level.

This is all good. I've spoken on this before, but I think it's great when paddlers get more training, when they have a goal to achieve, and work to improve their abilities, knowledge, and safety awareness. So I'm on board.

But here comes the rant. I don't want such assessments/awards/certification to be in any way mandatory. I don't want anyone saying this is what you have to do to be a kayaker. I don't want the public thinking that they need someone else to tell them they're a kayaker. I don't want them thinking they need to spend a lot of money on classes to become a kayaker. And here's why.

First, one of the reasons I, and I believe many others, like kayaking is the individual nature of the sport. I love the community, but on the water you are the captain of your own ship. There aren't a ton of rules and regulations and kayaking allows me to get away from the bounds of society and explore a rich wilderness where I'm responsible for myself. To formalize everything, to make it into a structured sport where one has to travel along a specific path to advance, takes away a large part of what makes kayaking so special.

In a similar vein, kayaking is a rich, white guy sport. That's not a good thing. I know there are other people who paddle, but especially on the sea kayak side, it takes a lot of money to get into paddling. If you want to buy a new kayak, the basic gear that's necessary, maybe a little extra to paddle in cold water, then you'll be spending three grand before you get your feet wet. It's not uncommon for paddlers to show up at the put in with twice that amount riding on and in their vehicle. As such, the demographics for kayaking skew older, middle class and above, and predominantly white. I would really like to see more diversity in this sport, if only because it would allow meet to meet a more diverse group of people (I'm selfish that way). But it would also be nice if more of those underprivileged, economically challenged, young,culturally diverse folks out there could get to enjoy the same things that the rest of us like so much.

Anything that suggests that it takes more money and time to become a real paddler is going to discourage people who can't afford either - time and money are the number one and two reasons why people don't kayak more. And make no mistake, that's what assessments require. Before you take an assessment, you have to go through formal (paid) training. Then you need to pay someone to assess you. Then you need to do it again and again to move up the ranks. If you have the time and money it's great - and I wholly encourage those who can to do it. But many paddlers don't have that luxury, and I'm afraid if people look into the sport and feel that such things are required, then they won't even bother to start.

I don't want to put more hurdles up; I want to knock them down. I want us to find ways to make getting into the sport easier, to include more people and make paddling accessible for anyone who might want to do it. I don't want clubs and informal organizations to become more restrictive by requiring people have a certain award or be certified at a certain level in order to participate.

The same goes for becoming a certified instructor. While I do think it's important that we hold certification to a high standard, including both personal skills and teaching ability, I don't want to make the process longer or more expensive. The more you require people to pay for your training before they can be assessed for certification, the more you're limiting your pool of instructors to the wealthy, leisure class. Yes, it's worth paying for professional certification if you're going to be a professional, but the majority of kayak instructors will never make the money back on their investment in certification. If someone walks up out of the blue and can show me that they have the skills, the knowledge, the craftmanship to be an effective teacher, I want to be able to get them the certification they deserve as easily as possible.

And on a practical side, I have a few issues with using assessments as a standard for anything (including instructor certification). I've seen quite a few certified paddlers over the years who clearly do NOT have the skills and qualifications that their award states they should. Certifications have value, but they're not perfect, foolproof, or entirely accurate. That will always be the case.

First, an assessment is an imperfect thing. To assess someone at as a level 4 sea kayaker (just to use an example), I need to evaluate them in winds 11-16 knots, surf to 3 feet, and current to 3 knots. It's hard to get all that perfect. What if the waves are only two feet - is that really enough to assess someone's surf handling abilities? Is 1 knot of current enough to evaluate their skills in moving water? And what if it's calm on the day of the assessment? There's a lot of ground to cover and if someone is paying to get assessed, there's going to be pressure to give them the award (it's not about questioning the integrity of the assessor, but admitting the practical realities of the world).

And even if someone did have all the necessary skills on that one day, what about the week after? What about two years down the road? Or ten? Unless they need to continue to demonstrate all the skills on a regular basis (they don't right now), how can anyone be certain that their assessment is still valid? And which organization's rules do we go by - ACA, BCU, PNA? They're all similar but not exactly the same. And if there isn't a single, consistent standard, if there isn't uniformity in assessment (and there never will be because it's a subjective thing run by human beings), then how can we use such assessments as a standard?

I've seen a great many paddlers who have tremendous skills and knowledge, who are an asset to our sport as safe and responsible paddlers, who have never taken a single course and have no interest in formalized training. I've also seen highly certified individuals who are reckless and get into situations over their head (and sometimes lead others there with them). There are great people on both sides of the certification divide, and I don't want to lose out on on those rugged individualists who tread their own path - I've learned too much from those folks over the years.

I will freely admit that the assessment process will lead to safer and more skillful paddlers - for those that can afford to go through it. That's great, but I want to make sure that everyone knows there are other paths to take, other ways to enjoy this sport and improve at it - and those options are equally valid choices. I really want to see our sport become more inclusive and accessible, to open up to groups of people who have never thought of paddling as a possibility for them. I know no one is actually suggesting that certifications become a requirement to paddle, but I think we need to think about perceptions and cultural expectations when we decide how we treat certifications and standards.

This isn't a simple issue and I don't think it's cut and dried, but I think it's worth sharing my opinion and hopefully getting more people to think about it. I'd love to hear from others on what they think of paddler assessments and where/when/how they should be used. The comments are open.

A Paddler's Journey: Book Update #2

Well, it's been a while since I've said anything about the book (read this post for full details on the project). But that doesn't mean I haven't been working on it (though, to be honest, I've been working on a lot of other things so this project has gotten less attention than I had hoped to give it). There was a break after completing the first draft because I sent it out to some folks to beta read and give me some feedback. Mostly to those who were in the book, so they could let me know if I got any facts wrong.

I'm happy to say that my memory was (mostly) accurate and the responses I got were quite positive. Based on their feedback, and my own sense of what I want to accomplish, I decided that I needed to include a little more personal information to thread my life story into the paddling stories, being careful to keep the focus on the paddling and the universal lessons that we all learn from the sport.

Well, I've now completed that revision and I'm pretty happy with where I ended up. There's definitely a little bit more of me on the pages, but I didn't really add a lot of content and it still has an easy-reading feel to it. Here's an example of a bit of that self-reflection, from immediately after my solo circumnavigation of Moresby Island (video here).

A Paddler's Journey - excerpt.

At the end of every day I was alone, with no one to share what I saw, no one to appreciate where I’d been. My accomplishment held little meaning of its own—this wasn’t a race; I couldn’t win. While I had enjoyed myself in the moment, I hadn’t gotten anywhere, ending in the same place I began. I needed something more than paddling in my life.

The long road home gave me time to realize my life was already filled with something special: people. People who let me use their cabin for as long as I wanted, friends who’d do anything to help me on the river, strangers who passed along their experiences for my benefit. Through kayaking I had met wonderful people of all stripes and sizes, old and young, hardcore and soft. Maybe I wasn’t a loner, not cut out for solo missions. Maybe I needed to focus less on the paddling and more on the company. Kayaking had opened my eyes, but it was time to see life through a new filter: friendship.

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Now I've got to let it sit for a bit and give it a full read through with a clear head. Then I'll show it to some new folks to see if it's working. Hopefully it will just need a few tweaks and be ready to publish after that.

If anyone out there is interested in giving it a read, let me know. Just leave your info in the comments with an email address and I'll be in touch. Thanks!

A Paddler's Journey - book update

A little while ago I announced my new book project (post here). The title is A PADDLER'S JOURNEY and it's a collection of paddling stories that chronicles my progression through the sport while also showing how I grew as a person because of it. The writing's going well and I've finished about ten chapters, each a slice of my paddling career. It's been a lot of fun going back to relive past events and really think about what I've learned and how I've changed.

As a writer, I'm always a little hesitant to share a rough draft. Things can change a lot between the first time you jot something down and when it all comes together in a final version. There's lot of editing left to do, cleaning the grammar and constructions, weaving themes throughout the whole, that ultimately leads to a better reading experience. But this blog has always been more about me sharing my thoughts than polishing and editing the text. So I figure I can share a little bit as I go and hopefully people will enjoy the ideas and recognize that the book will have the polish you have the right to expect.

I'll post updates and excerpts as I can and I'd love to hear what people think and get some feedback on what works and what doesn't. Do people want carnage stories? Humor? Graphic details or philosophical ramblings? I'd like to think it will have a bit of everything and please hard-core paddlers and interest those who've never been in a boat. Here's a taste from the opening chapter:

A Paddler's Journey - Chapter 1 Excerpt

In the distorted memory of childhood, I see a giant flotilla of canoes stretching endlessly down the grand waterway. An honest reckoning would be more like twenty canoes scattered along several miles of a peaceful stream. Whatever the count, we passed many and found ourselves near the front of the pack. The odd thing is, by that time I no longer worried about winning. The joy of paddling had taken over.

The splash of the water, the rhythm of the strokes, the cool breeze bringing scents of milkweed and wild sage, combined to sooth my spirit and erase any thoughts of competition. It wasn’t merely the happiness of being out on the water with friends and family, but also a delight in the skill, the sense of knowing how to do something and doing it well, making a connection with the water and using its power instead of fighting it. My family worked as a team and not everyone else did. We possessed something special and had earned it through our experience. I didn’t have the maturity to understand and express such thoughts, but they existed within me. That’s what made me happy.

At the top of the biggest rapid, my dad pulled us into an eddy to wait for the trailing boats. I didn’t complain. The race was over; we had already won. It wasn’t about coming in first but about being paddlers. And paddlers watch out for each other. We sat there and enjoyed the moment, I waved to the kids going past, and my dad gave advice to the adults. Hot dogs and potato salad waited downstream, but they could wait.

When the last stragglers approached the rapid, we started down with them. It was a shallow, rocky affair, with swift current that pushed boats towards the outside of the bend. As any boater knows, you need to keep the nose pointed downstream and stay to the deepest water. Even such a simple plan was beyond the capabilities of these neophytes, and in short order one of the other canoes broached sideways, bouncing unevenly over the river’s bed and doomed to be pinned on the rocks ahead.

My dad called forward paddle and I dug in with all the strength my slight frame possessed. We quickly caught up and my brother grabbed their bow, pulling it downstream with us. I turned to watch with a mixture of understanding and awe as my dad leaned all his weight onto his paddle to keep us straight, and our momentum swung the other boat into line. Side by side we floated until I sliced my blade in and let the water separate us. With room to steer, we both avoided the rocks and made it safely to the bottom of the rapid. 

Instead of savoring our heroics, my dad steered us towards an empty canoe floating down the river with a father and daughter swimming nearby. They must have flipped with no one around to save them. Once again we charged in with deft strokes to reach the pair quickly. My brother heaved the girl into our boat while my dad and I steered. The man in the water hung on to our stern as we chased down their wayward boat and bulldozed it to shore. I leapt to the grassy bank and grabbed the empty boat while the swimmer caught his breath. My dad smiled at me and I glowed with pride.

Time spent draining the boat and sorting out its passengers allowed everyone to pass us by. We started last and finished last. No one else noticed; nor did they say who came in first, or even talk as if a race took place. Yet I still felt like a winner as I ran around the park, slurping sodas and devouring watermelon. To this day I feel compelled to help everyone get ready before we launch. I lift the boats for those who might have difficulty on their own. I work out the shuttle logistics, just so we get on water a little faster. I learned more than the joy of paddling that from my dad that day. Much more.   

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This is from the first chapter, my career on the water starting in a canoe. Makes me want to grab a single-blade and hunk of Royalex and head up-river through the Redwoods. I hope it inspires others to get out there and enjoy the magnificent world. Maybe take your kids with you if you go :)